


Junior Year

by really_need_a_hobby



Category: Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: Because not everything fits a narrative arc, Gen, High School, One Shot Collection, random moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/really_need_a_hobby/pseuds/really_need_a_hobby
Summary: A series of one shots, giving a glimpse into the fleeting, unimportant moments that make up adolescence.





	1. Move In Day

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo...I'm not going to make any promises regarding the quality of this work, or how often I'll be adding to it, but I had a few random ideas floating around in my head, and I felt like getting them out. I hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Also, standard disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own the Mighty Ducks. 
> 
> I know. Try to contain your surprise.

The morning sun beaming in through the windshield, Charlie reached up and adjusted the tattered sun visor of his Explorer, straining to see the stoplight ahead. To his left stood a drab, 4-floor apartment building with tinfoil over several windows, courtesy of the paranoid meth cooks who favored that building. To his right stood EZ Pawn, with the flickering neon sign shaped like a diamond.

.

He’d always liked that sign as a kid. By adult standards, it was garish reminder of the neighborhood’s suffering, but at six, that huge flashing diamond was a sight to behold; the rich cakeeaters over in Edina might have had circular driveways and swimming pools designed to look like tiny lakes, but his neighborhood had the EZ Pawn sign. Even from a couple of buildings down, he could see it from his bedroom window, giving him a welcoming night light as he drifted off to sleep in his favorite old North Stars T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, the sound of Casey scrubbing dishes and pouring herself a well deserved glass of wine in the next room.

Besides, EZ Pawn was a nice place. That was where people with _good_ stuff went.

.

KwiK Pawn was where your mother went with a broken toaster in one arm and an outgrown pair of rollerblades in the other, trying to make enough money buy a loaf of bread and maybe a gallon of gas so that she wouldn’t have to walk the two miles to work the next day.

KwiK Pawn was genuinely sad. EZ Pawn really _was_ glamorous…for a place where men down the street cooked meth in crumbling apartments and rich suburbanites drove around in shiny Lexuses and BMWs, looking for drugs.

**.**

He didn’t _have_ to drive through the old neighborhood, of course. A person could stay on the interstate the entire way from Coon Rapids to Edina, never seeing a bit of the city, except at 70 miles an hour from a highway overpass.

That wasn’t Charlie’s way, though. He liked to be reminded of his days as a kid, planting purses filled with dog poop on the side of the road and playing hockey on the pond with old copies of _The Minneapolis Tribune_ repurposed into padding.

**.**

In many ways, life was easier now—he went to a good school in an affluent suburb. His stepdad had finally had a new job; one with union benefits and a large enough paycheck to finance a modest midecentury ranch over in Coon Rapids. His neighbors now were people with minivans and above ground pools, nary a pawn shop in sight. There were no entitled pricks in Mercedes sedans driving too fast through his neighborhood, headed back to Edina and Eden Prairie with passengers doing lines of coke in the back.

Still, it had been a happy childhood, and in contrast to Eden Hall’s whitewashed perfection, he had a soft spot for it.

The light turning green, he made his way through that intersection and the next, turning left onto Hennepin Avenue. There, the neighborhood changed; all at once, boarded up buildings and check cashing places gave way to 11,000 sq. foot colonials and detached five car garages, a mile and several million dollars dividing the two worlds.

**.**

He’d long thought it a strange irony that the fabulously rich and desperately poor lived within two minutes of one another, while the families with Tauruses and mortgages lived as far away from the poor as possible, eager to put half an hour and fifteen interstate exits between themselves and the reminders of what could happen if someone got sick, or an equity firm decided to restructure lower management.

In one of their darker moments, Fulton had once speculated that the rich lived where they did just so they could watch the suffering from their third floor sitting rooms, laughing as middle school boys shot one another over $6.42.

Of course, they all agreed, that probably _would_ seem funnier from the safety of a mahogany paneled library, a nice glass of scotch in hand.

 There were probably lots of things in life that were pretty funny from that vantage point.

**.**

Past the curved, cobblestone driveways and four acre yards with gently rolling hills, Charlie turned again, this time onto Eden Road. There, the houses once again started to shrink, this time giving way not to graffiti and decrepit bodegas, but to ranches and split levels. Houses not that unlike his back in Coon Rapids, except that the people in _these_ ranches and split levels worked at banks, or over at the university, rather than behind the wheels of forklifts and 18-wheelers. As he went by a familiar grey split level with a blue and yellow Breck Mustangs yard flag, he mustered all of the self-control he had not to roll down the window and yell “Suck my dick” at the strawberry blonde mowing the front lawn.

 

**.**

Turning past the imposing wrought iron gates, and driving beneath the canopy of leafy old oaks, he finally arrived at Hetheridge Hall, the three story limestone dormitory that he could be calling home for the next nine months. Already parked in the unloading circle he saw a white Range Rover with Texas plates, a trim blonde in bedazzled jeans lifting blue Rubbermaid containers out the back.

  _“Heh, who would have thought Dwayne was the real cakeeater of the bunch?”_ Charlie laughed, shaking his head at the irony of the fact that Travis Robertson was in his third year of law school at SMU, while the _other_ cakeeater’s brother sold coke by the KwiK Pawn.

  _And does that mean Dwayne IS their Scott…?_

“Howdy, roommate!” Dwayne greeted a moment later, the top of his cowboy hat peeking out from over the tower of boxes he was unloading from the back of his mother’s SUV.

 “Hey Cowboy! Ready for another year of the preppies?”

 Charlie smiled, still trying to suppress his laughter at the incongruity of Dwayne’s Wranglers and boots next to the immaculate British SUV and the heavily Botoxed Tammy Robertson.

  _Pretty sure those boobs are new._

 The two boys continued to make small talk, catching up on one another’s summer adventures as they headed towards the dorm, each loaded down with duffel bags and Rubbermaid bins. Ahead, they could see two Hispanic movers struggling to carry a mattress up the narrow steps, both men cursing the rich gringos in Spanish as the one in back narrowly avoided falling to his death after the first one started to stumble.

  _What kind of spoiled cakeeater decides they’re too good for the dorm’s mattresses?_ Charlie grumbled to himself, unable to _quite_ shake his resentment at the affluence of his classmates and their country club memberships. Their pressed polos, and the casual ease that came with knowing that the world was designed around them.

Reaching the top of the steps, his arms burning from the weight of the Rubbermaid bin packed with books and VHS tapes, he found his answer in the form of a perfectly groomed friend who was _not_ having to navigate plastic bins up two flights of stairs in the summer heat.

  _Heh, I should have guessed._

“Dude. Seriously?” He cracked, lifting an amused eyebrow.

**.**

Even as his fellow blue bloods were dirty and drenched in sweat from struggling with boxes, Adam was calmly waiting by the doorway of his room, directing men twice his age on where to put the lamps and bedding. Dressed in a crisp white oxford and freshly pressed khakis, it seemed that Adam had somehow grown even _more_ patrician over the summer…a fact that left Charlie torn between a slight bro crush and wanting to punch his stupid friend in the stupid fucking face.

  _Who does he think he is? The Grand Emperor of Assholeville?_

 “What? I have a bad back. I need a comfortable bed.”

 “Uh huh. And that explains the rug and the life-sized knight, too?”

 Adam casually shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

 “The room wouldn’t be the same without Suge Knight.”

 “That part is true. Without him, people might think the room belongs to someone normal!”

 “Hey now! I _am_ normal.”

 “Notice how all of these other people are carrying their _own_ preppy expensive shit up the stairs?” Charlie gestured, pointing towards all of the drenched, red faced boys in chino shorts and stained T-shirts carrying overstuffed L.L. Bean duffels to their respective rooms. “Even here, you’re a freak.”

 “Well, yeah, but how am I supposed to carry a 200 lb. knight up the stairs? He’s really awkward to carry.”

  _This is what girls fawn over?_

_No wonder I’m usually single._

 Rolling his eyes, Charlie gave up and turned back around towards his own room, thankful for Dwayne’s relative normalcy.

**.**

He could tolerate Garth Brooks and having the television turned to TCU football games on Saturday afternoons. Even the Texas flag hanging above the bed and the cow skull on his bookshelf were forgivable, though the cow skull had freaked him out for the first couple of nights last year.

 That was all still _far_ preferable to a roommate who considered Persian rugs, custom mattresses, and knight’s armor to be normal dorm room items.    

  _He’ll probably have poor Guy eating caviar and talking about the bull market by the end of the week_.

  _“Of course,”_ He thought, staring at the thin, plastic covered mattress on his own bed. _“I’ll also probably have to hear about the bull market, but at least THAT bull market has actual bulls_.”


	2. Tryouts

The first few weeks of school passed without event, the golden sun continuing to cast a comfortable glow over life at Eden Hall. The trees were still green, the birds still chirped every morning, and there was a pleasant hum to life—the work load was manageable, hockey hadn’t started yet, and there were plenty of lazy afternoons for hanging out with friends, doing nothing, and enjoying every second of it as the hectic world of suburban adulthood passed by in the background.

 As the trees started to fade to yellow and orange, though, Charlie began to notice a change.

 Quietly, and almost imperceptibly, a dark cloud had started to form across the hall. Whereas he and Dwayne were still happily arguing over whether to listen to George Strait or R.E.M. and doing algebra over the sounds of TCU crowds cheering, Adam and Guy both seemed to possess a sense of foreboding, the two blondes less talkative than usual.

 There was nothing that he could quite put his finger on—both were perfectly pleasant, and this wasn’t like that mysterious period freshman year where Adam only spoke in one and two word sentences—but still, something wasn’t quite right. Both seemed preoccupied, and neither one terribly enthusiastic when the topic of hockey came up.

 To Charlie, this seemed odd. Life was better than ever: He was back with Linda, Adam and Julie were still as sickeningly perfect as ever, Guy and Connie had gone a record five months without breaking up, and school was going unusually well, their aging wildebeest of a science teacher having been replaced by a cute brunette right out of her master’s program. Best of all, in another week, hockey would begin to gear up for the season.

 After two long years of being broken up between JV and Varsity, the entire team would finally get to fly together as Varsity Ducks. Not only would the flock be reunited, but they would serve as proof that Eden Hall Hockey didn’t have to be about matching blazers and stuffy traditions.

 It would be the beginning of a new era.

 

…………………

“So…do their contracts actually say they’ll get to play hockey?”

 Guy and Adam sat on the other side of the Lexan, carefully watching the tryouts going on below. The sound of pucks bouncing back and forth and freshly sharpened skates cutting across the ice filled the air as the two sat back in the bleachers, Guy nervously biting his nails as he watched his girlfriend get flattened by guys twice her size.

.

Players who had been on Varsity’s first or second line the year before were exempt from the brutal tryouts, leaving former third line players, JV, and new freshmen to battle it out for three long days in an attempt to show Wilson and Orion what they were made of.

 Now in the second day, all of Adam’s fears were being confirmed as he sat back and watched, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

.

He, Guy, and Julie were safe, having all been first or second line the year before. The two bash brothers would have to suffer the indignity of tryouts, having played third line, but there was no real risk either one would be replaced, particularly considering their size advantage.

 Charlie was a shoe-in, the decision to keep him on JV as a sophomore more a matter of team unity than talent, and another year of getting used to the ice had turned Russ into a solid player.

 Additionally, from Adam’s vantage point, Dwayne and Averman were shaping up to be the sorts of guys whose careers would have little hope of lasting beyond high school, but by high school standards, they were doing _okay_. If nothing else, the extra year of puberty was buoying them above their underclassman competitors. Luis had the potential to go either way, having mastered everything but stopping.  

 On the other hand, Goldberg had continued to do the bare minimum, and it showed; the sophomore goalie Jared Kemp easily surpassing him in skill.  

 Connie and Ken, meanwhile, had both put forth an admirable effort, but size was not on either one’s side. Connie was now dwarfed by boys who had ten inches and ninety pounds on her—an issue that Julie also faced, but that was _somewhat_ less of a problem between the pipes than at center ice.

.

“No. I’m sure Bombay will keep the scholarships safe, but that doesn’t mean Wilson has to let them on Varsity.”

 Guy nodded.

 Logically, he’d figured that all along, but it was still hard to hear someone confirm it.

 “I’m sure Orion wishes he could keep them on JV.” Adam sighed thoughtfully, running a hand through his once perfectly neat hair. “But his hands are going to be tied, and he’s got to worry about developing the next crop of players for Varsity.”

 The two sat back against the cold metal bleachers, a sense of resignation overtaking both of them as they watched Luis crash into the boards and Ken get flipped by a freshman who already towered over him.

 “This sucks.”

 “Yup.”

 A few minutes later, Adam looked down at his watch.

 “Want to go steal beer from my parents’ refrigerator?”

 “Sure.”

………………..

 

“Can’t you do something about this?”

 “What would I be able to do about this? Do I _look_ like Coach Wilson?”

 An hour earlier, the roster had been posted. Looking at the lineup, Charlie’s heart sank—there would be no great Duck reunion. Not only had Goldberg, Connie, Luis, and Ken not made Varsity; they hadn’t made the lineup at all.

.

His original flock of Ducks—the kids he’d grown up playing on the pond with since kindergarten—had been decimated; he, Guy, and Averman now the only ones left from the old D-5 days of goofing around in alleyways and making due with thrift shop football helmets.

 The new players were wonderful, but somehow, they just weren’t the same. The Adams and Julies and Dwaynes of the world would never quite _understand_.

.

And of course, he was now standing face to face with that other world, having gone across the hall to talk with the one person who he hoped could fix things.

 Sitting atop Adam’s bed, complete with a _very_ comfortable mattress and sheets that he suspected cost more his parents’ living room furniture, the difference between the two worlds felt starker than ever. Right down the to the bed he slept on, Adam didn’t have to live in the same universe as everyone else.

 “I don’t know.” Charlie shrugged, eyeing the knight’s Maui Jim sunglasses and Ferragamo tie with a tinge of envy. “You’re the one who he saved a slot for on Varsity last year, without having to try out.”

 Adam took a deep breath, the pink scar stretching the inside of his forearm covered by yet another long sleeved shirt. He wore long sleeves a lot, happy to hide the reminders that at seventeen, he already had enough titanium in his body to set off metal detectors.

  _Yes Charlie. Getting to skip tryouts in light of a shattered arm and brain injury was a real dream come true_. _We should all be so fortunate_.

 “That wasn’t favoritism, that was me not being _able_ to try out. The doctor’s hadn’t cleared me to play yet.”

 “And you really think Coach Wilson would have done the same for anyone else?”

 “I’d already proven myself the year before.”

 “You were third line. Fulton and Portman were third line last year, and they still had to try out this year.”

 Adam gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his composure.

.

If every word Adam spoke was carefully calculated, none of Charlie’s were, leading to frequent hurt feelings on both sides.

  _He’s not trying to be an asshole. He’s not trying to be an asshole. He’s not…_

.

“Again Charlie, they _could_ try out. Trust me, tryouts would have been a lot more fun than physical therapy!”

 “I’m just saying, obviously Coach Wilson likes you. Surely you can do something...”

 “I can’t make him change the team roster.”

 “But this isn’t fair. They came here to play hockey. They should get to play.”

 Adam leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to think of a way to get his friend to understand that prep school hockey, was not, in fact, the stuff of Disney movies, complete with guaranteed happy endings.

“This isn’t City League peewees, Charlie. You don’t get to play just because you attend school and you _want_ to play.”

 “That’s easy for you to say. Your friends always _do_ get to play.”

 “For fucks sake, they’re obviously my friends, too! I have pretty much every class with Ken, and Connie visited me in the hospital more than you did. I care about them just as much as you do.”

 “I’m just saying. If it was Julie who didn’t make the team, or your precious Larson, I’m pretty sure you’d be more upset than you are right now.”

 Getting up, Adam walked over to the closet door and grabbed a navy and white monogrammed towel from the hook, draping it over his arm.

 “If Julie didn’t make the team, I’d be upset because she’s _better than either Goldberg or Jared Kemp_! Like, way better. And Larson doesn’t go here. If he did, he’d probably be in the same boat as the four of them, because he’s just not that great of a player.”

 “Well, that’s an asshole thing to say.”

 “What? He’s not. I mean, he’s not horrible, but he’s not _good_. There’s a reason that he’s a Breck right now instead of here or down at Faribault. Besides, you don’t even like him!”

 “Well of course not. _I_ think he’s a cakeeating prick. But I still think that’s a low thing for you to say about your own friend.”

  _Well, I think most of this conversation has been filled with low things to say, but you don’t see me bitching._

“Okay, well, not withstanding this thrilling debate about the ethics of me saying Larson sucks, is there anything else you’re wanting me to do for you?” He asked, looking back down at his watch as he spoke. “Because I’m supposed to meet Julie in half an hour, and I really need a shower.”

 Prying himself from the comfortable bed, Charlie made his way across the Persian rug towards the door.

 “You realize that you’re entirely too young to always be this curmudgeonly, right?” Charlie smiled. “Like, I’m scared to see how horrible you’ll be when you grow up, because you’re already worse than Gary, and Gary’s got a good 30 years of bitterness on you.”

 On his way out, he couldn’t resist mussing Suge Knight’s perfectly tied Ferragamo tie and stealing the sunglasses to give back later.

  _Phil really should have let him play with dolls as a kid. Maybe then he wouldn’t have grown up to be a grouchy weirdo who dresses pieces of metal up in designer clothes._

Reaching over to the bed, Adam grabbed a fluffy down filled pillow and sent it sailing across the room, nailing Charlie in the head before the brunette could make it back to the safety of the hallway.

 “Yeah, well, at least you’ve been paying attention in English. Dumbass.”

 “Jerk!”


End file.
